To Be A Hero
by OmegaCrusader
Summary: Commander Shepard's not used to this feeling - Weakness. Emptiness. Defeat. Just what went wrong in this hero's life after he destroyed the Reapers? Series of one-shots, multiple POVs, M!Shep/Miranda. Rated M for later chapters of smut, language, and gore
1. Turning Point

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MASS EFFECT FRANCHISE OR COMMANDER SHEPARD.**

If you haven't already known, I've decided to temporarily discontinue my two earlier stories, **_Renegade_** and **_Epilogue_**, due to a lot of things going on (the full notice is on my profile). But I'm definitely not going to forgo writing. Just like I'm not going to give up on living. Same principle.

Anyway, _**To Be A Hero **_is a collection of one-shots that show fragmented images of Commander Shepard's entire life, switching from the POVs of his squadmates and allies to the big man himself. You'll be able to string all the pieces together before you finally see the grand image. Yes, this is based on the same John Alan Shepard from **_Epilogue_**, just with a few changes in his story.

I'm DEFINITELY going to finish this one, mark my words, even if it kills me. I'm going to make this the best !#$ing piece of fanfiction I ever wrote in my entire worthless life. But excuse me if the intro is a bit short.

And, fair warning to everyone opposed to the M!Shep/Miranda pairing, yes, _**To Be A Hero**_ heavily ships M!Shep/Miranda. You have been warned.

So, without further ado, let the story, BEGIN!

* * *

**TO BE A HERO**

_Turning Point_

He felt ... _old_.

Perhaps that single word wasn't enough for a clear definition; he felt tired, broken, frustrated, and ..._ weak. _

Yes, that was it. The perfect definition - _weak_.

Weakness, as far as Shepard could see it, could be defined as many things. But, to be used in his current condition, weakness was defined everything from the physical weakness of his injured left leg, to which he now owes his new career as an N7 instructor and lecturer after resigning from the Spectres and the noticeable limp with which he now walks with, to his not-exactly new-found emotional weakness.

In spite of himself, he gave a small, amused, albeit exasperated, scoff.

_If only they could see me now_, Shepard thought to himself as the memories of his old squadmates came flooding back for a brief moment.

Surely, the _great _Commander Shepard wouldn't have his career forgone simply because of a simple injury (at this, Shepard wondered if many people actually knew what had happened to his left leg). Surely, the oh-so-_great _Commander Shepard (or ex-Commander Shepard, that is), especially with his stoic face and bold, commanding voice, would never feel _weakness_. Surely, the _immortal _(and, sadly enough, there were those who could actually think of Shepard as immortal, but, then again, he did cheat death once, albeit not easily) Commander Shepard would never feel _old_. And even after so many years, they still believed this. They took this knowledge to their grave.

He felt his fists clench in anger. _Damn them. Damn them _all_._

Then the rage died as quickly as it came. He sighed, standing up and walking over to the bathroom.

Turning on the tap, he splashed a bit of water onto his face, enjoying the feel of the cold water dripping down his face. He blinked, mouth pressed in a thin line. Lifted his head and faced the mirror.

The countenance that stared back was pale, wrinkled, and with a sallow complexion, its eyes a dull shade of blue, the remains of its short gray and white hair was messily strewn over its scalp. It looked ... defeated. Shoulders sagging, slumped posture, arms no longer as well-built and defined as they used to be ...

This was not _the _Commander John Alan Shepard.

This was ... someone else.

Another sigh was released.

"No," Shepard mumbled sadly. "Merely a shadow. A shadow of who I once was."

Despite how much he wanted to deny it, Shepard was right. The past twenty years had been equally tough and rewarding on him. "But mostly tough," Shepard snorted.

After his last mission two years ago that had involved an attack by two Thresher Maws simultaneously, the Thresher Maw acid had seared through his shields and armor and had almost entirely dissolved his lower left leg. Just why that had happened, well, Shepard knew that it was simply because he was getting too old, too careless. And while his lifespan had been cybernetically and genetically modified to be a third longer than that of an average human's, it didn't perfect his soldier's mindset, it didn't prevent his tactical thinking from getting flawed. It didn't prevent Garrus and Miranda from dragging his screaming, writhing form onto the drop-shuttle and into the med-bay.

"Didn't prevent a very idiotic, constant usage of our very limited medi-gel reserves that we brought with us," Shepard muttered.

He could've done better. Even now, he could've done better. But it was too late. His leg was too weak to do sprinting, and a good shot could snap it entirely.

Thus began his life as an N7 instructor and lecturer, for whom else better to help train the guardians of the future than the one who had ensured that this future could happen?

What had went wrong with his _life_?

"Nothing, nothing," Shepard said softly. "Just what went wrong with _you_?"

In that particular case, perhaps he could say ... not everything, but certainly a lot of things.

Death. Pain. Loss. Trauma. Incompetence. Failure. Weakness.

Was he going insane? Was his mind slowly being driven mad by these and _so many _other things in his life?

Had this part of him hid itself, burrowed itself so deep into his soul that Shepard himself didn't know it existed?

Perhaps. Perhaps driven down by fear, or by denial, or by itself, or ...

The initial years of his new life after the Reapers hadn't been so bad; in fact, quite the opposite. Just like his childhood. Shepard smiled a little at the thought. Then he closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened ... before everything went _wrong_.

* * *

**A/N** - Rather short for my intro standards, but I like it anyway. Will probably submit chapter two by tomorrow late night or so. And Commander Shepard is telling you to click that little green button down there. ;)


	2. Abnegation

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MASS EFFECT FRANCHISE OR COMMANDER SHEPARD.**

Whoa. Shoulda done this quicker. But there was a landslide of exams, so, no time to update. But, here it is. Much better. Rather angsty. Bit o' confession time towards the end, portrayed in a flashback. Will make the next chapter with a slight bit of smut, suggestiveness, more romance.

By the way, there's a reference to a particular, popular RPG that BioWare made sometime before ME2. Can you find it? If you can, you gets a cookiez! xD

* * *

_Abnegation_

_Shepard_

"Shit, shit, sh- _Whoa - _Shit!"

Shepard narrowly dodged a huge glob of Thresher Maw acid that splashed right in front of him, feeling some of the acid sear slightly through his armor. As he dashed away and in the direction of the second Thresher Maw, he fired the Collector Particle Beam at the monstrous, towering beast.

Grinning in triumph as he heard it die as the Particle Beam struck flesh, he spun around and tried to get a clear shot at the first Thresher Maw, but it had disappeared.

_What the -_

Behind him, it was behind him, he realized it when he heard the rumbling, when he had felt the shaking of the ground, like something was tunneling underneath it, which was _true_ -

Shepard spun around but fell backwards, fell right on his ass as he so eloquently thought, the Particle Beam clattering against the rocky terrain as it skittered across the ground, and the Thresher Maw rose to full length, towering over even the mountains next to it, and Shepard felt fear, true fear, fear that he hadn't felt for a long time.

The fear hadn't snared all his instincts and senses, which had been honed by years of intense warfare in unimaginable circumstances and simple training. He at least managed to crawl a few feet away before he heard the startlingly-clear sound of a Thresher Maw spitting acid.

In those few seconds, he had somehow managed to clearly remember every detail, from the image of the Thresher Maw acid splashing onto his leg, the memory of Miranda rushing over to his side, to the memory of Garrus picking up the Collector Particle Beam and dashing the Thresher Maw's brains out all over the rocky plateau, before everything was washed away with the red haze of complete, absolute, unimaginable pain.

* * *

Someone was screaming. Shepard wondered who it was and why that person didn't shut up.

Then he realized that _he _was the one who was screaming.

Everything came flooding back - his vision, his memories, and ... _the pain_.

Through the red haze, he made out vague, dark shapes towering above him, rushing about in blurred motions.

_"- another dose!"_

_" - heart rate's flying, he won't-"_

_"- he WILL-"_

The voices became mixed and jumbled, fragments of sentences running into one another, Shepard unable to hear anything coherent. His vision became extremely blurry.

A sudden rush, as though a rush of adrenaline filled his senses. He took a raspy, large breath and tried to sit up, tried to see what was happening. But his soldier's reflexes were being dulled. He tilted his head slightly, and before he passed out, he managed to get a glimpse of Doctor Gerinsy frantically fiddling with his console, blood smeared all over his lab coat.

* * *

_It was a dream, _was the first coherent thought that came into Shepard's half-conscious mind.

Yes, that was it ... The Threshers Maws, the acid, the pain, the voices, Doctor Gerinsy ... all a dream. He was going to wake up in his bed on the SR-2, just another boring day of playing the peacekeeper, another normal day of killing mercenaries and monstrosities for Commander Shepard, Council Spectre ...

The first thing he noticed was the IV drop hooked to his arm. The fear hit him with all the subtlety of a gunship's missile.

"No," Shepard wheezed out, disbelief and panic flooding him as he _remembered -_

_The Thresher Maws, the acid, _my leg _-_

Shepard groaned with a cross between denial and disbelief as he saw his left leg.

_I'm screwed._

His left leg was barely recognizable, his upper leg covered in blood-stained metal, glowing blue conduits located at the links of the bones, the rest of his foot mercifully covered with a thick - albeit bloodied - sheet. When he tried moving the remains of his leg, he was rewarded with barely any motion and a burst of pain.

Panic flared.

Then it was instantly replaced by something else, and Shepard lost himself to it completely - blind, complete, senseless fury.

* * *

_Garrus_

Never in his life would Garrus Vakarian ever imagine Shepard going through this.

Never would he have ever imagined Commander Shepard ... in a _wheelchair._

To be fair, Garrus had heard that Shepard only had to roll around in the thing for a few months before Gerinsy and the med-team could finish repairing his leg. But a part of him had a nervous, unsettling thought.

What if this was it for Shepard? What if that battle with the Thresher Maws had been his last?

Garrus wasn't naive; he knew that the commander was only human, having only gotten this far by skill, skill that was driven by his natural soldier genes and the luck of just being at the right place at the right time. He had seen the commander in some of his weakest moments.

His thoughts were interrupted when Shepard himself rolled out of the elevator and made his way over to the airlock. Garrus was to accompany him for a meeting with the Citadel Council.

The turian grimaced. He could think of only one reason as to why the Council would pay so much attention to Shepard as of late. A part of him knew what was coming.

_Discharge from the Spectres. I don't even think he'll be able to cope with it._

Garrus noticed the dangerously calm look in the commander's eyes. He instantly shifted from his leaning position on the wall next to the airlock, stood up straight and faced Shepard.

"Hey, Shepard," Garrus said, trying not to piss the commander off. "You feeling alright?"

For a split-second, anger flashed in Shepard's steely-blue eyes before it disappeared, followed by a stiff response.

"Yeah. Fine as I can be, which is pretty good for being stuck in a goddamned wheelchair with half of your left leg being a _fucking_ hunk of metal."

"You want me to push your wheelchair?"

For a second, Shepard's eyes flashed murderously, and Garrus was worried that the commander was too lost in his rage and denial to hear the awkward, attempted note of sympathy, note of concern for a friend in his voice. But the turian relaxed when Shepard suddenly sighed exasperatedly.

"Yeah. Okay." Shepard looked up, and for the first time in his life, Garrus finally saw a bit of the _real _Commander Shepard, the man that had been hidden underneath the 'inexorable soldier' exterior. He found a tired, wounded old man that barely had the strength to put up with the galaxy's remaining bullshit.

As Garrus made his way to the back of Shepard's wheelchair, Joker opened the airlock door.

"Don't worry about it," Joker's parting words were. "It'll be fine, Commander."

* * *

Garrus couldn't believe it. And yet, he couldn't say it came to him as a surprise.

_"Therefore, and with the consent of the rest of the Citadel Council, we formally give ex-Commander Shepard an honorable discharge from the ranks of the Spectres_, _due to disability."_

The words still rang in his mind, fresh and piercingly clear.

Garrus was a bit relieved about the meeting, however. The discharge, well ...

Luckily, it seemed that the commander had expected it. Otherwise, he might've shot somebody. In fact, Garrus had seen Shepard's trigger finger twitch when the Council delivered the news. But, somehow, he had managed to keep his poker face on, albeit with a dash of noticeable rage and denial, and had kept it stonily etched on his face throughout the entire jaunt back to the Normandy.

_He'll probably call everybody together tomorrow or so, _the turian thought. _Get everything settled. What about the Normandy? Will he keep it since, it isn't an Alliance vessel, or will he sell it off, or what?_

Garrus finished his evening meal and grabbed the tray, tossing it in the sink. He saw most of the remaining crew members finish up and head to the showers or the Crew Quarters.

_Probably by the end of this week, they'll be jobless, _the turian thought grimly. _I'll probably join them. Where does that leave us?_

_

* * *

_

_Shepard_

Five bottles. Five bottles of heavy liquor downed in about fifteen minutes. If he didn't pass out after the seventh bottle, he'd beat his own record.

"_Fuck the council,_" Shepard sneered, his voice slurred. "And _fuck _being a Spectre too!"

Shepard sighed, downed the remaining liquor in the sixth bottle and slammed the bottle on the coffee table in front of him, burying his face in his calloused, scarred hands, waiting to pass out, to throw up, or to _die _- who cared?

He couldn't say he didn't expect the discharge. He certainly didn't expect an _honorable _discharge, at least. But the news still struck him with the force of a slug from a Carnifex handcannon.

Denial. Yes, that was it - denial. He was a _soldier, damnit _- besides fighting, what else did he have to live for?

He felt his fists clench. One, two, three seconds passed. Then the anger was gone, leaving a hollow, blank feeling of emptiness in its wake.

_Stop it. Stop acting like such a child. You knew this would be coming sooner or later. Did you seriously expect to play the Galactic Hero forever?_

Shepard sighed. The events of the past two weeks had progressed too quickly. He needed to think things through. He needed to plan. He bit back a cynical scowl. Only now did he decide to use his 'great tactical mindset'.

Standing up, he shook his head as though trying to clear the foggy, dulling effect the liquor was having on his brain, making his way to the shower. He _really _needed to think things through.

A shower was _definitely _what he needed, the steady beat of water on his back relaxing in coordination with the warm water trickling down his spine. It gave him time to think.

_

* * *

_

_"Where ... Ah, where do I begin?" Shepard was nervous, wringing his hands and pacing the room like an agitated, caged lion._

_"Begin what?" Miranda seemed genuinely interested, raising an eyebrow, watching Shepard carefully as she sat on the edge of his bed._

_Shepard took a deep breath. "Alright, alright ... How do I say this? Pff, you'd think it would be easier. But sometimes, just when I'm around you, I feel like my head's about to explode, like ... like I can't think straight._

_"Odd? Absolutely, if you think about it for a moment. I doubt most would expect Commander Shepard to ... to act like some ... Well, I don't know, some awkward, testosterone-induced teenager with his first crush, but, ah, the sadness that is reality." He gave a small, almost sad, smile and a short, derisive scoff._

_"Okay, so, here it is. I'm not used to ... confessions, and a sane part of me is considering grabbing my Carnifex and blowing my brains out, but since I'm mostly - wait ... I'm acting like an idiot." Shepard took a few deep breaths before continuing._

_"About this ... this ... _thing _we're having ... this ... _relationship_, if that's the right term ... I guess, since we're in the heat of the moment, so to speak, I guess it's okay to confess that I've been shamelessly smitten with you since ... since Horizon, I suppose. I remember. You saved my ass there. And since the Reapers are coming, I just wanted to say ..."_

_"Yes?" Miranda finally spoke after Shepard's initial, long string of stammers._

_"... that I love you."_

_Shepard wanted to kill himself. He wanted to bash his head open against a wall or something. That sane part of him was berating, screaming, launching itself into a tirade about how this was a bad move, how he'd regret this, how he had just awkwardly, embarrassingly stammered the only statement in the English language that was avoided by most ..._

* * *

Shepard stepped out of the shower, the vivid memory of his confession to Miranda piercingly-clear in his mind. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he was about to go change when a sudden _blip_ from the terminal interrupted him. A message. From his son.

_Andrew._

Shepard sighed. He should've gone straight to his family. His mother, Miranda, his children ... But, _no_, he had to put up with all the political Council bullshit.

_ From: Andrew Shepard_

_To: John Shepard_

_Dad,_

_We heard about the news - everything. Don't worry, we didn't listen to the crap on NewsNet or Westerlund - everything came from Mom, so no Council politics screwing everything up._

_Jane still hasn't been told - she's been off on Tuchanka with Grunt on a camping trip. We've contacted her, told her to come back._

_We know about what happened, and just what you're going through right now ... And we'd like you to visit. We haven't seen you for a month and a half already. Things have passed. Changed. Grandmother's worried sick. We all are._

_Your son,_

_Andrew_

_

* * *

_**A/N - Yes, as I've said before, angsty, but will make up for it with a bit o' old Shep/Miranda lovin' in the next chapter. Stay tuned.**_  
_


	3. Memories

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MASS EFFECT FRANCHISE OR COMMANDER SHEPARD.**

Argh, writer's block! It basically butchered me for the past three weeks or so, working together with my headache, fever, and nauseousness in some insidious plot to stop this story! But no! I refuse to succumb to these human weaknesses!

Finally got this done. A slight bit of light smut (or strong fluff, depending on how you look at it), but not sure at how well I did 'teh smexiness', since it was rushed.

Anyway, I'm making this two-part, not particularly happy with it, might go back and change some parts.

If you'll excuse me, I need to go get some fresh air before I puke from said nauseousness.

* * *

_Memories_

"Shepard, wait!" The Illusive Man tried to take a step back but stumbled, falling to the polished metal floor of the space station. "Don't do this!"

"Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I after you chased me across the galaxy in some dogged pursuit, trying to kill me and endangering the lives of everyone I cared for?" Shepard gave a bitter, cynical bark of laughter. "Looks like you're not in the fit state to be giving orders anymore, Illusive Man." He readjusted the aim of his handgun so that the round would blast right through his face, straight through those cold, blue, inhuman eyes.

"Miranda! Don't let him do this!" The Illusive Man was practically pleading, begging for his life.

"If you've forgotten, I don't take orders from you anymore." Miranda said coldly. "None of us do."

"Remember who protected you from your father! Remember who protected Oriana! I sacrificed so much to keep you safe! Is this how you repay me? I-"

The Illusive Man was interrupted when Shepard stepped forward and punched the side his face with a fierce right hook. He cursed under his breath and spat out blood, eying the both of them with a furious glare.

"Shouldn't have brought that up, apparently," Miranda noted dryly.

"Humanity needs to rise!" the Illusive Man virtually screamed. "None of you can ensure that! Cerberus will never follow you!"

"That can be arranged." Shepard stepped forward and pressed the heel of his boot against the Illusive Man's neck, forcing the man down on his back as he knelt down and pressed the barrel of his handgun against the Illusive Man's temple. "Unfortunately, you won't be here to see it." He paused for a brief moment, the Illusive Man writhing underneath his foot. "I don't know if there's a heaven or a hell. Even if there is, I don't know if you're still human enough to go either way. Rest in peace ..." Shepard pulled the trigger, not wincing when the blood sprayed on his face. "... you son of a bitch."

Shepard holstered his handgun, turning away and fumbling with his radio.

"Target has been eliminated. Requesting cleanup crew."

"Alright. We'll be up there in five."

Shepard signed off the radio and turned to Miranda.

"Well," he started. "What do you think? Overly-dramatic? He got what he deserved?"

"He got what he deserved," Miranda agreed, walking around the corpse and stopping at the row of holographic consoles. "Hopefully we'll be able to put all this to good use." she added, motioning towards the consoles.

"Emphasis on 'good'," Shepard mumbled, eyes flickering back to the Illusive Man's corpse for an unconscious second. "But we can start working later. We've got a lot of cleaning up to do first."

_And it's not just the corpse, either._

Weeks passed. The crew had stayed at the station for most of the time, but periodically, the Normandy would have to go resupply, leaving Shepard, Miranda, and a handful of squad members.

Both Shepard and Miranda had barely rested for the duration of the weeks that passed, making sure all the cells were in check, monitoring all progress, eliminating any rogues or troublemakers, and, most importantly, hacking into the Illusive Man's cache of information.

Shepard had arranged for his mother, who was on leave, to take care of their three-month-old daughter, Jane, for the duration of the clean-up process.

"Well," Miranda announced one day. "It looks like we're done here."

Shepard blinked in surprise. "Really? Cells are in check, information's been hacked, and rogues are dealt with?"

"All of it. Now we just have to make sure it's all put to use. Good use, as I've said before."

Shepard nodded unconsciously. "I trust you."

Miranda paused. "Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot. Unfortunately ..."

_Uh-oh_.

"'Unfortunately'?" Shepard echoed, stepping forward.

Miranda sighed. "Unfortunately," she began. "There's still a lot of work to do with Cerberus. Projects that could be scrapped or restarted, making sure there aren't any mutinies in the future, seeing if there are anymore secrets the Illusive Man hid ... Essentially, putting Cerberus in a better light."

"And I assume ... this'll take a while?"

"Quite a while."

"How long do you think?"

"Perhaps ... three years, give or take."

There was a low whistle. "Three years ... I ... well, _we_ ... can't possibly ..."

"I know." Miranda said. "Jane needs one of her parents to take care of her."

"And you need to stay here and make sure everything runs smoothly. Huh. Guess that makes a choice for us. Well, here's hoping three years won't be that long."

"At least we'll have some time to ourselves after ... after all this is over." She allowed herself a small, sad smile, stepping forward and placing a hand on Shepard's chest. Their eyes met.

"You're worth the wait," Shepard said softly, drawing her in for a kiss.

"Hey, commander," Joker's voice crackled over the radio, forcing both of them to abruptly break apart. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to remind you that your mom's on the comlink. You might want to come up and take it before she gets ... impatient."

"Tell her I'll be right up."

"You got it, commander."

The resounding _blip-blip _of the radio as Joker signed off reverberated throughout the room.

Shepard made a halting gesture with his hands. "Wait, don't move – I had a feeling this conversation was going to go somewhere in particular." He quickly turned and broke into a steady jog.

Miranda watched him leave until the door slid shut behind him. She turned around, wiping off a small, almost sad smile she didn't know had been there, facing the row of holographic consoles. Sitting back down on the chair again, she began rifling through the files once more.

There was still a lot of work to be done.

* * *

**THREE YEARS LATER**

It was late night already. Shepard was tucking Jane into bed, a daily routine he had gotten rather used to.

_Never imagined I'd be a father, _he thought to himself every day, as though in a reminder.

"When's mom coming back home?" Jane would ask every night.

"Soon, sweetie. Soon." was Shepard's eternal reply.

In truth, those words and that semi-lie instigated a pang of sadness that hit him in the stomach. He had to sleep with that every night, constantly haunted by the mere memory of her.

It was no trivial matter of need – no, he _wanted _Miranda to come back, even though he knew her work with Cerberus was extremely important. He _wanted _to see her face once more, run his fingers across her smooth skin, to simply know that she was sleeping right next to him at night.

Loneliness was something he could endure easily. But, still...

He shrugged to himself as he clambered into bed, worn out, like he was every day. Taking care of his daughter had been equally rewarding and tiring.

"You can charge through a group of krogans, snipe a Collector from a hundred meters away on a moving platform, hack through five consecutive terminals, bash your way through a horde of husks and not break a sweat, and yet simply taking care of your own daughter can wear you out like that?" he mumbled jokingly to himself as he pulled the covers over him.

He turned over onto his side and closed his eyes.

Sleep came easily, as it did every night. And, as every night, dreams came as well, albeit vague and short-lasting.

Around this part of the year - usually several days around the anniversary of the Illusive Man's death, lasting at most a month – he had ... particular dreams. Memories, really – the sort of dreams that made him relive a particularly ... _interesting _moment he had experienced enough of in the past.

They came ... _pleasantly_, but Shepard always found himself waking up abruptly, _forcing _himself to do so, for he couldn't bear to reach the end of the memory, he couldn't bear to relive it again.

_Desire drove every single precise motion his more primal mindset directed, his hand deftly using two fingers to pull open the fastenings of her outfit individually, moving down her back, his mouth frantically kissing her face, savoring the taste of her flesh – every part of his body complying as soon as the notion appeared in his mind._

_ Feeling her pleasant weight atop him, smelling the fragrant scent of her hair, hearing the soft moans that escaped her lips – simply knowing she was there was more intoxicating than any drug he had ever had. At that moment, with his own hands peeling her shirt off and feeling her fingers work at his belt, the rest of the galaxy could've gone and fucked itself for all he cared – it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered but the present moment._

The rest of that night was part of a reminder – a reminder of three years before.

_Reminder or not, I don't want to relive this again, _damnit ...

The dream skipped an hour ahead despite Shepard's unconscious protests, showing no sign of stopping.

_His fingers unconsciously ran across the smooth skin of her shoulder, sighing heavily. He was obviously tired, but sleep was extremely elusive at the moment. But there wasn't time for sleep. Surely, he had to get up, he had to ... No. He could come to that later._

_ She was awake, and he was sure of it when her breathing pattern changed, feeling her writhe slightly in his embrace._

_ Several moments of silence passed, both of them awake, before she broke the silence._

_ "Shepard, I-"_

He woke with a start, eyes wide, breathing heavily, driven awake by a unconscious thought – no, _demand _– that had formed in his mind, his soldier's senses fighting against the lull of sleep and dreams as though they were a sedative working through his system that he was trying to resist against.

Resting his face in his palm for a few seconds, Shepard looked at the clock that lay on the bedside nightstand.

_Three o'clock in the morning ... you've only slept for five hours. Damn._

He needed a drink, maybe two, some of the hardest liquor in the house. He needed something to make him _forget_, that of which was virtually impossible, especially with _that _particular memory fresh in his mind.

Shepard forced himself out of bed, the covers falling away, trudging to the kitchen. He was out in the hallway when the door opened with a hiss.

The figure was a shrouded silhouette, owing to the lights that lit the corridor on his level of the apartment complex combined with the dimly-lit living room, but it was familiar. But, no, it was ... _impossible. _The simple thought of it...

_Impossible? _a voice thought in the back of his mind. _Truly? It _has _been three years, hasn't it? Open your eyes for once, Shepard._

But it couldn't be ... was it?

"Miranda ...?"


End file.
